


The Price Of Heroism

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, Fluff, HP: EWE, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-21
Updated: 2010-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-06 12:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When, a few years after the war, Draco saves Hermione from an attacker, life takes an unexpected turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price Of Heroism

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** Written for hd_fluff in May 2007.  
> **Disclaimer:** The Potterverse is JKR's, not mine. Written for fun, not profit.  
> **Warnings:** AU-ish. Fluff. Brief reference to a past character death.

Not without a fair amount of trepidation, Draco walks into the hospital room, clutching the large bouquet of flowers tightly in his right hand.

The young woman in the bed gives him a tired but genuine smile. "Hello."

"Granger," he says, returning the smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Better. No serious damage was done. They're keeping me in overnight for observation, but I'll probably be allowed to go home in the morning."

"That's nice to hear," Draco says. He hands the bunch of flowers to the nurse, who wanders off in search of another vase. Hermione has barely been there for an hour and already her room is starting to resemble a small flower shop.

"They've just told me that the baby's fine, too," Hermione adds softly. "She's what I was the most frightened about, you know."

"Yes, I can imagine." Draco wants to say more, and he's just about to take a seat when Harry Potter comes into the room.

"You all right, Hermione?" Harry asks anxiously, but his worried expression turns into a vicious glare the very minute he spots Draco. "Malfoy," he says, in a tone that clearly indicates that the other man may have saved his best friend from an attacker, but that still isn't sufficient reason for Harry to have suddenly changed his mind about him.

"Potter," Draco says flatly, before he turns back to Hermione. "Take care of yourself, Gra- Well, Weasley now, I suppose. And if there's anything you need, extra legal advice, don't hesitate to contact me. I'm just an Owl or a Firecall away."

"Draco, wait! You don't have to-" Hermione begins, but he's already on his way out the door and either can't hear her pleading words anymore or simply chooses to ignore them.

Outside in the corridor, in his hurry to get out of that hospital and as far away from Potter as humanly possible, Draco narrowly avoids bumping straight into Ron Weasley, who still looks rattled after everything that has happened today.

Ron lays a hand on Draco's shoulder and blurts out, "Thanks a million again, mate, I'd hate to think what might have happened if you hadn't been there."

"Don't mention it." Draco forces a smile. "Anyone else in my position would have done exactly the same thing," he says awkwardly.

"Yeah, but after everything-" Ron takes a deep breath. "Anyway, come over and have dinner with us sometime, yeah? So we can thank you properly."

"I'll think about it," Draco says. "Bye, Weasley, and the best of luck. Take special care of them."

"Yeah. I sure will," Ron says and quickly heads back to check on his wife once more.  
   
*  
 

 

The dinner comes and goes, and Draco never makes an appearance.

Instead, he sends a bottle of fine wine and a card.

Hermione and Ron understand. After all, the history they share with Malfoy isn't exactly one to be proud of, and it's not as though he owes them anything for having rescued Hermione, either; that would be too daft for words.

Harry, on the other hand, takes personal offence at Malfoy's absence. He leaves right after dinner, claiming he has a headache and should probably retire early, get a good night's rest for a change.

Instead, he goes straight to the nearest pub, to drown his frustration and emptiness, the cause of which he can't define and frankly, doesn't even want to.  
 

*  
 

 

Draco takes another sip from his wine.

"Master Draco, he needs anything else?" the elf asks politely.

"No, it's fine. I think I'll-"

A loud banging at his front door cuts him off. He reaches for his wand and with the worried elf on his heels, he strides out into the hallway, wondering who on earth would even dare bother him this late. The grandfather clock struck midnight only a few moments ago.

Draco opens the door to find Harry Potter standing there, looking highly enraged and unpleasantly intoxicated in more or less equal proportions.

"Potter?" Draco says, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

"Malfoy," the young man snaps in response. "So, Hermione and Ron aren't good enough for you, huh? You couldn't be seen dining at a Weasley home, is that it? Not up-market enough, I suppose? Stupid, stuck-up git that you are."

Draco might have been insulted, had Harry's words not come out all slurred and muddled, with an underlying sadness that didn't seem to have anything to do with that night's dinner.

"You're pissed out of your mind, Potter," Draco observes. "And what were you even thinking, coming here in such a state? You could have Splinched yourself."

"But I didn't, did I?" Harry retorts, crossing his arms.

"No, but that's hardly the point, though, is it?"

"Oh, please." Harry rolls his eyes. "Since when do you even give a damn, Malfoy? Did you suddenly wake up one morning and decide to devote your life to saving people? Is that how you spend your days now, shoving grannies across the street? I hope you at least ask them first whether they actually _need_ to be on the other side."

Finally losing his patience, Draco glares. "As it happens," he snaps, "I'd rather not have to explain to the Ministry—the very same Ministry, I might add, that hounded my poor Mother and myself for months after the war until our solicitors finally put a stop to their ridiculous overzealousness—that their beloved hero is lying on our doorstep, quite literally in pieces. Now kindly get to the point, Potter. What is it that you want?"

"F-For starters," Harry slurs. "Why didn't you make the effort to come to Hermione and Ron's for dinner tonight? They went to all that trouble!"

Draco sneers. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

Harry huffs. "Redeemed or not, Malfoy, you're still a complete git."

"And war hero or not, Potter, you're still more sloshed than Trelawney at a wine tasting convention."

Draco sighs and takes another long hard look at the young man in front of him. "Twinky," he then addresses the elf. "Show Harry Potter to one of the spare rooms, would you? And make sure he has clean clothes and a vial of strong hangover potion for tomorrow morning."

"Yes, Master Draco, right away," the elf says with a small bow, and before Harry can protest, he finds himself being ushered upstairs.  
   
*  
 

 

The following morning at breakfast, Draco is very glad that his mother still hasn't returned from her shopping trip to France. She wouldn't be too impressed to find Harry Potter under her roof; Harry Potter, who has never been terribly polite, let alone friendly, to her because of the man she was married to.

Lucius died during a raid in Azkaban, and while there are still times when Draco misses his father (in spite of everything, the man was still his dad), he can't deny that life is generally easier and more pleasant without him.

Draco pours himself another cup of coffee, goes back to reading his paper, and fervently hopes that Potter has found the hangover potion. The unfortunate sod is definitely going to need it when he wakes up.

As if on cue, Harry Potter walks into the room.

Draco doesn't look up. "There's strong coffee in the pot if you want it," he says.

"Thanks." Harry looks a little lost when he takes a seat. "Um, Malfoy," he begins uncertainly. "About last night, I'm sorry I-"

Draco puts his newspaper down. "So you should be, Potter," he says sternly. "Very sorry. Then again, you were pretty drunk too, although I'd still like to know what you were thinking, showing up here, out of the blue, and in such a state as well."

Harry shrugs. "I just thought it was kind of weird that you weren't there; that's all."

"Weird?" Draco frowns. "I may be a lot of things, Potter, but I'm no hypocrite."

"I- I never said you were. It's just- you saved her, didn't you?"

"Yes, because I'm not a heartless bastard, either. Or are you perhaps suggesting that I should have just stood by and allowed her to get mugged and I dread to think what else? Was I supposed to let something like that happen for the sole reason that she's someone I didn't get along with at school? Is that what you're implying here, Potter?"

Harry remains silent.

"Well?"

"No- No, of course not. I was only surprised. I mean, you even hexed a Muggle. We're not supposed to use magic on Muggles, you know."

"Is that so?" Draco smirks. "For your information, Arthur Weasley has already sorted all that out. The Muggle I hexed was a threat to his granddaughter's life. If anyone was going to get reprimanded there, it certainly wouldn't be me."

Harry gives Draco a blank look. "You know about the baby, then?"

"Yes, Gra- Hermione told me."

"Right."

"Help yourself to breakfast if you're hungry," Draco says. He isn't sure why he's even offering. Maybe because the mention of Hermione's pregnancy seems to have knocked the wind out of Harry and the young man is now sitting there, looking more bewildered than Draco has ever seen him.

"Thanks," Harry says at last and he reaches for a bread roll.  
   
*  
 

 

They don't speak again for many weeks, although Harry does do a lot of thinking in the meantime, and in the end he decides that he has to make amends. After all, Ron and Hermione no longer begrudge Malfoy anything, so perhaps it's time for Harry to let bygones be bygones, too.

"Earth to Harry Potter?" Hermione laughs. "It's nice of you to visit and check up on us, but honestly, that's not the only reason you're here, is it?"

"No. it's- It's about Malfoy. I-"

Hermione smiles knowingly. She was the first to learn of her best friend's crush on his school rival. They were only fifteen back then. "Oh, Harry! You're still not over him, are you?"

Harry smiles wryly. "How do you even _get_ over someone like him, he's so- so-"

"Well, he has always been able to get under your skin, that's true."

"Maybe you should go talk to him, mate," Ron cuts in. He's sitting across the room from them, flicking through a Quidditch magazine.

"What?" Harry yells. "But you don't even _like_ Malfoy, Ron!"

"Maybe not." Ron shrugs. "But he helped when it counted: during the war and then with Hermione. I'm thinking he's not so bad, deep down, not when it comes to important stuff, the things that really matter."

Sighing, Harry runs a hand through his hair. "You're right. You're _both_ right. So what am I supposed to do now?"  
   
*  
 

 

The following day, Harry knocks at the door of the stately manor. The elf lets him in and he soon finds himself standing face to face with Narcissa.

"Hello," she says with a tight smile, "if it isn't the illustrious Mister Harry Potter."

He coughs nervously. "Good afternoon, Mrs Malfoy, is Ma- is Draco home?"

"Yes," she says—to his immense relief, because he's quite sure he wouldn't want to do this twice. "He's in a meeting with our accountants at the moment. He shouldn't be long. You can wait for him in the drawing room if you wish. It's over there." She gestures towards a door to their left.

"Thank you, Madam. I will."

"Good." She makes to turn around, but then turns back to him and adds, "Oh, and Mister Potter?"

"Y-Yes, Mrs Malfoy?" Harry blurts out nervously.

She smiles sweetly this time. "Thank you for the roses."

Harry bites his lip and nods.  
   
*  
 

 

Fifteen minutes later, Draco saunters into the drawing room. He's dressed in a black Muggle suit and has his hair tied back in a ponytail. "Hello, Potter," he says. "What can we do for you today?"

"I, um- I um-" Harry can't help but stare at the sight in front of him.

"Yes, Potter, do get on with it. This year, if you would. Time is precious, don't you know?"

Harry swallows hard. He can't find the right words to speak, so he decides to act instead. He leaps up, grabs Draco by the shoulders and kisses him clumsily.

Draco is too stunned, too baffled at what's going on, to respond straight away, and so Harry pulls back after mere seconds, looking absolutely horrified and embarrassed, and before Draco can utter even a single syllable to rectify this obvious misunderstanding, Harry has already Apparated off somewhere.  
   
*  
 

 

Cursing loudly, Draco stomps back out into the hallway and all the way to the living room.

"Harry Potter kissed me," he snaps at Narcissa who's sitting on the sofa and giving him a questioning look.

Her eyes widen in surprise. "You don't seem very happy about it, darling. How come?"

"He _left_, Mother. He grabbed me, kissed me, and Disapparated. Just like that." Draco snaps his fingers to emphasise his point.

"I see. Well, your late father always _did_ say that Gryffindor bravery was largely a myth," Narcissa remarks pointedly. "Also, I'm not entirely sure I approve of young men barging into my home, molesting my only son and then vanishing into thin air. Are you entirely sure that your Mister Potter wasn't raised by a pack of wolves rather than a bunch of Muggles?"

"Yes, I'm quite sure, Mother." Draco lets out a deep sigh. "And he's hardly _my_ Mister Potter." He shakes his head. "Seriously, though, Mum, what on earth am I supposed to do now?"

Narcissa smiles. "You've been enamoured with the boy for years. If he's the one you want, you go after him, of course, even if he is something of a misguided idiot."

Draco nods. "He is, I'm afraid. The one I want _and_ an idiot. Thanks, Mother."  
   
*  
 

 

It takes Draco five hours to find out Harry's current place of residence.

No, that's a lie.

With a well-placed Firecall, it takes him no more than five minutes, but he needs those five extra hours to muster up the courage to do anything with that information.

He takes a deep breath, and he's gone.  
   
*  
 

 

Potter seems to need forever to get to the door, and when he finally does, Draco can't hold back a chuckle.

"Malfoy!" Harry exclaims, barely able to conceal his horror. He's not sure what's worse: Malfoy being there at all or Malfoy seeing him in his Snoopy apron, which was a gift from Hermione and not something Harry would ever choose for himself—_really_. "W-What the hell are you doing here?"

"It would seem that you and I have some unfinished business."

Harry crosses his arms defensively. "Do we now?"

"Yes, Potter, unless what happened in my drawing room is the sort of thing you do all the time."

"Um, No- That was- that was- that was…"

Suddenly, Draco notices something else. "Potter," he says urgently. "What's that nasty smell?"

"Oh bugger!" Harry exclaims. He turns around and hurries back into his house, with Malfoy following closely behind.

"Damn it!" Harry curses at the thick black smoke coming out of the oven and filling his tiny kitchen. So much for his Lasagne, then.

Draco shakes his head. Grinning, he flicks his wand and utters a spell. "There."

Harry looks up sheepishly. "Um, thanks," he says, and then they both burst out laughing, because their present situation is simply too ridiculous to do anything else.

"Listen, Potter," Draco says, being the first to regain his composure. "It seems like we've both had one hell of a day, so how about we go somewhere and have dinner?"

Harry frowns. "Dinner?"

"Yes. Yours is clearly ruined, and Mother left for some charity function about an hour ago, so she's not expecting me home tonight."

"What did you have in mind?" Harry asks carefully. Knowing Malfoy, he'll probably want to go somewhere posh and Harry really doesn't feel like making an even bigger fool out of himself tonight than he already has.

"Are you familiar with the Italian place around the corner?"

Harry smiles and nods. "Yeah, their pizza is pretty good."

"So, shall we go there?"

"Okay." Harry doesn't say anything further. He just stands there grinning.

"Potter." Draco breaks the odd silence. "You might want to get changed first, though, unless you fancy running the risk of being mistaken for the new kitchen help when we arrive?"

"Yeah. Right."

Grinning from ear to ear, Harry bolts up the stairs.

Draco shakes his head and smiles.  
   
*  
 

 

Once they've moved past what was left of their initial awkwardness, dinner soon becomes pleasant.

They talk about Quidditch and their friends and life in general, and they're both surprised to discover how much they enjoy one another's company.

Before they know it, they've finished their pizza, two large bowls of ice cream and countless cups of coffee.

Draco is the first to notice how the waiter shuffles his feet a little too casually.

"I think they want to close up," Draco says with a smile, as he gestures for the bill. "I'll walk you back, if you'd like. It'll clear my head a bit before I Apparate back to the Manor."  
 

*  
 

 

"Right," Draco says. They're standing in front of Harry's house and are looking at each other expectantly. "I suppose this is where we say goodnight."

"Um, yeah, I guess." Harry doesn't really want Draco to leave, and he suspects Draco can tell as much; he can practically see it reflected in those beautiful grey eyes.

"I'll Owl you tomorrow morning, all right?"

"Tomorrow morning. All right," Harry parrots. "Unless you want to.. um... you know, come in now?"

Draco chuckles softly. "I do, actually, but who knows where that might lead? At this point, I don't think it would be wise for us to blindly rush into anything."

"Oh," Harry says. He looks every bit as dejected as he feels.

"All I mean by that, Harry," Draco says softly, "is that I think we ought to take it slow, one step at the time. I never said I wasn't interested, did I? Because frankly, I am."

"You-You are?" Harry stammers, and his heart feels like it's about to jump out of his chest.

"Oh yes. _Very_ much so." Draco smiles, closes the distance between them and tenderly kisses Harry on the lips.

Without any of the clumsiness he displayed at Malfoy Manor earlier that day, Harry eagerly kisses him back.

"Tomorrow, Harry," Draco whispers, breaking their kiss first. "Goodnight." And with that, he quickly Apparates home before he changes his mind, gives into temptation and ends up spending the night at Pot-Harry's place anyway.

"Sweet dreams," Harry mutters to the spot Malfoy just occupied. He turns around, walks into his home, and smiling widely like the love-struck fool he is, he closes the front door behind him.

"Tomorrow."  
 


End file.
